


Love Me, Love My Dog

by phoebesmum



Category: Sports Night
Genre: Angst, Christmas, Gen, Gift Fic, Schmoop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-02-21
Updated: 2010-02-21
Packaged: 2017-10-07 10:54:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/64463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phoebesmum/pseuds/phoebesmum
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Charlie has a new best friend.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Love Me, Love My Dog

**Author's Note:**

> Written December 2007, for sn_holidays on LiveJournal; for meadowlion, who had long ago asked for something involving Casey, Dan, a new pet, and jealousy.

The puppy is Charlie's, of course. Of course! For the past five years, Casey had been trying to sell Lisa on a dog – "A boy needs a dog!" he would say, and she would routinely dismiss it as sexist nonsense; he'd tried again and again, but it had always been "And who's going to take care of it? Who's going to walk it, and clean up its mess, and take it to the vet?" and when he'd promised her that he'd do his share she'd just laughed nastily and asked him when, when, in the vast amount of free time that he made for his family would he find time to look after a goddamned _dog?_ But, wouldn't you just know it, before he's been out of the house for a month, suddenly Charlie's a proud dog-owner, and when Casey reminds Lisa of all the counter-arguments she used to make, she just looks at him, fishlike and blank, and shrugs.

That's what she does to pretty much everything Casey says these days.

It goes without saying that, having decided to get a dog at all, Lisa then gets it completely wrong. What Casey had had in mind was some sort of terrier, or maybe a mixed breed, scrappy and loyal, with a proper dog's name, something like 'Patch' or 'Rags' – the sort of dog a kid could run and tumble and play with. Lisa went to a breeder and came home with a chocolate Labrador rejoicing, no-one seemed to quite know why, in the name of Wilberforce. Even as a pup it was big and dumb, and as it's got older it's only got bigger and bigger and, apparently, dumber and dumber still.

But here it is, and here it stays, so Casey determines to make the best of it. He'd amended his apartment-seeking criteria to 'must allow animals', which had cut down his options quite considerably and raised his potential rent even more, but that didn't matter, not so long as Charlie had a place he and his pet would feel welcome. Once he'd found an apartment that would do, he'd stopped off at Petco on the way back from an interview and bought dog dishes and dry food, a dog bed and a tartan blanket, a squeaky bone, a grooming brush and, with some distaste, a poop scoop and a sheaf of disposal bags for same. And now, on Wednesdays and alternate weekends, Casey has not only a son, but also a dog.

A dog who gets bigger and hungrier every time Casey sees him, and who seems to regard Casey as no more than a convenience on the right end of a can opener or a hindrance on the wrong end of a leash. He doesn't growl – he's pedigree, he's too well-bred for that – but he certainly doesn't seem to _like_ Casey very much. Or respect him. "Here, Wilberforce!" Casey calls, and Wilberforce will glance over his shoulder, sneer, then lollop off into the distance, leaving Casey lagging behind, defeated. Some days Casey wishes he'd never reappear, but then he reproaches himself: that would leave Charlie heartbroken for the second time this year, and at least, for all his faults, Wilberforce seems to love, if not obey, Charlie.

He also, and rather unfairly, both loves and sometimes obeys Danny. Casey would never have pegged Danny as a dog man, but he and Wilberforce hit it off right away. "Who's a good boy, then?" is all Dan needs to say, and Wilberforce will be flat on his back, waving all four legs in the air, wriggling with ecstasy as Dan scratches his stomach and ruffles his ears. The dog's ears, that is, not his own. Nor, sadly, Casey's. Casey has lately started at least half-admitting to himself that Dan's voice has much the same effect on him as it does on Wilberforce, but he's keeping this to himself. There are some things nobody needs to know, certainly not while Charlie's around the place.

Still, when he gets back one evening from an emergency grocery (read: ice-cream) dash, lets himself in the door, and finds Danny asleep on his couch and Wilberforce asleep on Danny, he can't suppress a pang of jealousy, although he's not sure at which of them it's directed. He lightly swats Wilberforce across the flank with a newspaper, and the dog opens one reproachful brown eye, gives him a piercing stare, then jumps down and pads into Charlie's bedroom. The movement wakes Dan up in turn, and he stirs and blinks at Casey with a similar reproach.

"He knows he's not allowed on the couch," Casey explains, feeling mean-spirited and guilty, and thoroughly resentful about it. It's _his_ couch, doesn't he get to make the rules?

"M'm," Dan says, and sits up, stretching. Danny's stretches, which generally expose several inches of Dan's bare stomach, and what seems like yards of long neck, are another thing that have a regrettable effect on Casey's self-control. He moves away and futzes with the curtains, making sure they meet properly in the middle and hide them from the world outside, although, ten storeys up, there's nobody but passing pigeons to see them. "He probably doesn't know. He's a dog." He yawns widely.

"He's been trained," Casey points out.

"That's not comprehension, it's just learned behaviour," Dan says, and yawns again, wider yet. "Which is potato/other potato, I guess, but still. You want to know why he won't do what you tell him?"

Casey spreads out his hands in an 'I'm listening' gesture. "Please."

"It's 'cause he knows you don't like him," Dan says. "You should be nicer to him. There's enough of Charlie for the both of you, you know."

Casey lets his hands drop. "I have no idea what you're talking about," he says.

"Yeah," Dan says, and he reaches for his coat. "You do." He rests a hand on Casey's shoulder as he passes. "It's not a popularity contest, Casey. Lighten up." And he's gone.

Casey picks up the grocery bag from where he'd dumped it, takes it into the kitchen, and starts stowing things away.

Dan's right. Casey does know what he's talking about.

"No dog," Lisa had said, over and over and over, no matter how Casey argued or Charlie pleaded, and then, as soon as Casey was out the house: dog. What was she thinking, that it'd be a, a what, a consolation prize? A substitute? 'Never mind that Daddy's gone, Charlie, here's a puppy!'

At this point, Casey's mind invariably supplies Charlie, face alight, shouting 'Yay!', but he forces that image away. He knows it's not true; it's just his paranoia painting him a picture. Charlie's a good kid, he misses his father – Casey knows, hasn't he heard that pathetic little voice on the phone enough times, asking, "Are you coming home soon, Dad?" which is something else he prefers not to dwell on. Thank god that phase is over. Now Casey has his own place, and Charlie has his own place-within-that-place, things are more settled; Charlie seems to have accepted the situation.

Casey only wishes he could say the same for himself. But at least he can see daylight, now, at the end of the tunnel. This thing with Dan, for instance – isn't that a clear sign that whatever he used to have with Lisa is over, that they're through, that maybe they never should have been together in the first place?

He hopes it's daylight. Falling in love with Dan … that'd be more like the, the beams? Headlights? Whatever - of an oncoming train.

Wilberforce appears behind him, alerted by the sound of cabinet doors closing, sits himself down by his food bowl, and barks. Casey sighs, scoops out kibble, stands back and watches as Wilberforce slobbers his way through the plateful.

It's ridiculous to be jealous. No matter what, Casey is still Charlie's father, and Wilberforce is just … a dog. No competition. He reaches down to pat the dog on the head, and Wilberforce stops eating, sniffs his hand suspiciously, gives it a cautious lick, then returns to his supper.

Truce, then. Casey turns away, looking in on Charlie before he heads for bed. He can just see a tousle of fair hair on the pillow, buried beneath a mass of blankets. The bed dips, suddenly and alarmingly, and there's Wilberforce, turning himself round and round three times before settling across Charlie's feet (Charlie doesn't so much as stir), and resting his head on his paws, his eyes lifting to meet Casey's.

Casey shrugs. "Yeah," he tells him, "Okay." And, leaving the door ajar and the hall light on, the way Charlie likes it, he heads for his own empty bed.

***


End file.
